


Way Down We Go

by Rhoverty



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other additional characters to be added, PFFT, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, you wish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-06-24 20:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19731643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoverty/pseuds/Rhoverty
Summary: Collection of prompts pertaining to Jason Todd.He stuttered his breath, flickered his lashes and winced at the light which illuminated overhead, boring into his retinas and burned into his thoughts. The music was the first to putter him into focus, a soft melody which sent him through waves of memories. Memories of Shakespearean plays and extravagant operas.





	1. Strapped to an Operating Table

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to do one of these for a while, just haven't really wanted to commit tbh. But here I am, doing one now!
> 
> The overall plan is to post when I'm able, so who knows when this'll be finished. IT WILL GET FINISHED tho, just might take me a while...
> 
> Other news, since these are some pretty heavy prompts, I'll add a summary and chapter names will be the prompt. Tags will be updated after each chapter (closer to the end, that might not be needed tho lol). If there is a tag that should be there, let me know!
> 
> Nonetheless, please do enjoy! 
> 
> Side Note : Unbeta-ed. Any and all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Song Inspo : "Way Down We Go" By KALEO

Sound is a strange thing. It flutters through the air as softly as the beat of a butterfly’s wings. It screams across the atmosphere like a banshee soaring for their prey. And it thrums through a room like the lull of a lullaby.

Music, voices, scrapping and humming made up the surrounding sounds. It vibrates through his ears until is sprung nightmares into reality, jerking his subconscious to life and tearing him from those sounds of laughter and the remembrance of pain.

He stuttered his breath, flickered his lashes and winced at the light which illuminated overhead, boring into his retinas and burned into his thoughts. The music was the first to putter him into focus, a soft melody which sent him through waves of memories. Memories of Shakespearean plays and extravagant operas.

_Operas?_

He jerked, instantly awake and aware, terror draining the color from his features of the situation he’s found himself in. His senses blaze to life and it’s then that he feels the cold chill of the air seep into his skin and raise the hairs up along his body.

Eyes flying open he immediately surveyed the area, taking stock of the damp room and the distant thrum of music dancing across the atmosphere. He pulls his arms, finds them restrained, does the same with his legs and sputters on a breath when they refuse to budge.

His heart thuds against his ribs, aching through his chest as his breathing quickens. Terror trickles down his spine and sweat cascades down his temple. Teal orbs dart side to side, examining the place like an auctioneer to a crowd. There are tables dotting the corners, each with an array of supplies, _medical_ supplies from the looks of it – his heart leaps into his throat.

Jason ignores the implications, turning his head to the nearest sound and finds what he’s been dreading since waking.

The figure sways side to side, singing along with the melody while jerking his dominant arm back and forth. Jason swallows. He does his best to keep his rapid breathing as quiet as possible while his heart beats so loudly he’s convinced the maniac can hear it too.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, the figure turns, and he’s faced with the blood splatter remnants of the terrifying hog mask of _Professor Pyg_.

“Ah, the little bat has woken up and just in time. Pyg was getting worried little bat wouldn’t wake up.” The man went on, head tilted as he raked his gaze across Jason’s form. He studies him like a rat in a cage, ready for experimentation.

Jason barely resists the shutter wanting to putter down his spine as those eyes stare at him. He felt completely exposed, not only was his skin bare to the world – dignity still contained considering his boxers were still in place, _thank god_ , he thought – but he felt like his soul and every flaw he had was on display. Ripe for the picking.

And what better character to take advantage of that but the professor with the knack for _perfection._

Lips curled, he bared his teeth and almost _growled,_ like a dog, as the man stepped closer, bloody butcher knife held within his grasp.

However, no matter how intimidating a man and his reputation may be, humans were always susceptible to one of the most corrupt forms of thought; _fear_.

It burned through Jason’s veins like acid, corroding through reason as he jerked and pulled in the pure desperation to get away as Pyg got closer.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me, freak!” Jason spat, teeth grinding together as he yanked at his limbs. If he wasn’t so occupied on each step the maniac took, he could feel the burns which were no doubt rubbing into his wrists and ankles. But pain never did do him good when it was a useful distraction.

At this rate, he was willing to pull, break, or even rip a limb off just to get the upper hand and find some form of escape.

He knew what Professor Pyg did to his victims, seen them with his own two eyes as Robin and later as the Red Hood. Those that were once human were turned into completely mindless dolls feeling nothing but the mindless commands of its master. No pain, no thought, no free will to aid them in their desperation for escape. Just the professor, and the professor alone.

Jason had been at the end of manipulation his entire life; he doesn’t want nor need _mindlessness_ to top it off. He wanted to leave this world his own way, not at the command of a _perfectionist_ and his _dreams_. 

“But, Pyg can make you perfect. Pyg can make anyone perfect.” He went on, lips crinkling into a frown.

Jason snarled, jerking his form away from the fabric of the blood-stained apron which pressed against the operating table. Pyg still stared at him with that lopsided frown, knife tightening in his grasp. Watching the blade, Jason was already imaging the burning pain which it would no doubt insinuate.

“You bring that _thing_ any closer and I’ll shove it up your _fucking ass!”_ Panic was another familiar emotion right alongside fear, it sent adrenalin coursing through his veins and rage burning through his teeth. Rage he could work with it, it put the terror at ease and dwindling hope for escape on the back burner.

It didn’t make such thoughts of helplessness and dread go away completely though. And those were the thoughts which trembled along his form as he watched Pyg stare at him, knife shaking in his hand with the ich for use.

“Pyg wants to help the little Bat. I want to make you feel better,” He mumbled, tilting his head, dark orbs boring into Jason’s own with a disturbed type of intense observation.

“I don’t want or _need_ your fucking help!” Jason growled, yanking at the leather cuffs until it began chafing against his skin until it bled.

Pyg looked at him crookedly, cocking his head to the side with a creasing frown and narrowed eyes. The look made a chill stutter through Jason’s spine as he eyed the edge of the madman’s blade. It inched closer toward his bare stomach, uncaring for the jerking movements to _get away_.

“Pyg will make you perfect.”

And as the blade dragged through his skin, all the boy could do was scream.


	2. Hair Matted With Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason fell back down, that single burst of energy leaving him completely drained, gaze fiddling between consciousnesses. He wanted to give into his bodies pleas of sleep, but his mind kept him awake, thrumming _dangerdangerdanger_. Like the red letters of an emergency alarm flashing warning codes.
> 
> Warnings: Suicidal idealization, beating, cussing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... life has been a wreck, but I've got a new job, school is going okay, I'm getting more sleep, and my roommates got a puppy. He's adorable, but he attacks my hands when I'm trying to write and it makes it very difficult. So if my writing seems wanky lets blame it on him and not the months I haven't written anything. 
> 
> Anyways, for those of you who enjoyed Oh Brother, I Will Hear You Call, I'm in the process of writing a sequel. No idea when I'm gunna get it posted but its happening either way.
> 
> I did delete Quid Pro Quo, I'm going to rewrite the first couple of chapters and once I have a better idea as to where it's going, I'll repost it. When? I have no idea.
> 
> Nonetheless. Enjoy <3

Something didn’t feel right. Well, something never felt right these days, but with the intense throbbing pounding against his skull, it felt worse then normal days. 

His lashes fluttered, teal orbs slivering through their curtain before shutting tightly once more. The light above, no matter how dim it may be, burned into his retinas. He hissed, hand sluggishly coming up to swat it away. 

It became pointless, especially when he opened his eyes once more to find that light still there. He flexed his fingers, letting his arm fall to his chest. It felt completely numb to any movement. 

Maybe that wasn’t good. Maybe it was just the change in weather. His body felt like the aftermath of a train wreck when cold fronts came in. Crippled, sore, and toppled over without the willingness to move from his current position.

The light was blocked out momentarily, a figure standing in its way. They looked familiar and for a moment Jason thought it was  him .

But it couldn’t be him. He was dead. Gone. Exposed to the world then committed himself dead in a fiery explosion, taking every memory of home with him. 

Jason wasn’t a praying man, never had a single prayer answered to him during his childhood. But sometimes, sometimes he does. Especially after that night.

_ “ We can fix this. Together.” _

Sometimes he looks towards the sky and prays for relief. Most of the time, that relief can only truly be found at the end of a barrel.

He wishes for such relief now.

“You think he’s dead?” 

“You kidding? This is the  Hood  we’re talking about. No he’s not dead.”

“If he’s not dead, what do we do with ‘em then?”

“I dunno. Let’s take his helmet off. See who this guy really is.”

There were a few scuffs just besides his head, but he was to disoriented to act upon it. That was until there was a hand - distorted in the spiderweb of cracks splintering across his visor - was reaching toward his head.

As numb and useless as his body felt, it sprung into action, hand reaching out to latch onto the strangers wrist. The other whipping a knife from his sleeve and thrusting it into the strangers shoulder.

They screamed, yanking their arm from Jason’s weakening grasp, and fell back, hand fondling with the embedded blade. 

Jason fell back down, that single burst of energy leaving him completely drained, gaze fiddling between consciousnesses. He wanted to give into his bodies pleas of sleep, but his mind kept him awake, thrumming  _dangerdangerdanger._ Like the red letters of an emergency alarm flashing warning codes. 

“Holy shit!” The second voice - it sounded younger, younger than Jason liked - shouted. 

The sound grated against Jason’s ears, causing him to wince.

“Are you okay?”

“Just fuckin’ peachy!” The first one hissed through gritted teeth. 

“Maybe we should-“

"Where’s that crowbar? Imma bash his fuckin’ head in again.” 

_That’s what it was_ , Jason mused to himself. No wonder they were able to get a good hit in, he probably froze after seeing it and the flashbacks accompanied.

He’d laugh at himself for being so pathetic if he wasn’t in some way or another trying to get away. Getting away being figurative and imaginary, given how he’s barely able to sit up only to see a flash of metal and his head whipping to the side. 

His body slammed against the ground, skull thudding off the concrete. He sputtered, the cracks across his visor worsening until everything was a glitching mess. 

“Take that fuckin’ helmet off! I wanna hit ‘em without it.”

“But-“

“Do you want me to hit you too!”

“No-"

“Then don’t be a pussy and take it off, you lil bitch!”

The teen frowned, glaring at the man before him. He wanted to tell him off, but with the crowbar in his grasp - and the willingness to use it - he bit his tongue.

His heart thudded in his chest, like a jackrabbit on caffeine, but he shuffled toward the fallen vigilante nonetheless.

Once he was sure the man was out cold and wouldn’t attack him, the teen bent down. His hands fondled with the clasps, but he was able to snap them free and fluidly pulled off the helmet, it’s owners head thudding against the ground. He winced in sympathy.

“Is he out?”

“I think so, yeah,” the teen replied, staring at the side of the... the other  teens  face. The jagged lines of a  J  starting back at him. 

“Well! Who the fuck is he?”

The teen shrugged then got to his feet as the other walked over, crowbar ready for another swing. The man leaned over, hesitancy evident in his frown.

“He still breathing?” He asked.

The teen gave another shrug.

Groaning, the man bent down, free hand entangling itself in the Hoods hair - black and white mix of strands painted in blood across the side of his head, trailing down his face - and turned his head to the side.

He was out, that was obvious, with ragged breathing and a loose expression.

“Damn, look at those scars,” With the crowbar still in his hand, the man used a finger to trace the ones along side Hoods face. One across the underside of his eye, the bridge of his nose, his lip, and then the brand. He traced the letter like a kindergartner first learning to write the alphabet.

“Maybe we should just leave him and go.”

The man released the boys hairs, letting his head lull against the ground, dirt sticking to the matte of blood crusting along his locks.

“Maybe you should.” 

Both of them stood, backs ram rode straight at the sudden voice. 

Darkness swamped the area as the figure above them blocked out the alley light. Staring back at them were two beady white eyes fixated in a permanent scowl.

“Oh fuck-“

The man was already gone from the alley, crowbar clattering against the ground in his leave. 

The teen was still frozen, starting at the figure.

“We-we... Uh, sorry,” He drooped the helmet and followed his companion out of the alley, leaving the limp figure of Red Hood to the mercy of their new company.


End file.
